The First Valentine
by godscousininlaw
Summary: Valentine's Day was never a happy time for Arthur Kirkland. But maybe that's why he was so surprised when someone showed they care. Rated M so France can play his "games" ;D
1. The Letter

**Summary: **Its Valentine's Day again and Arthur Kirkland is in a saddened mood. Preparing for a night getting hammered at the bar, he is instead surprised when he gets a special Valentine from someone unexpected. This is a little FrUK for everyone for Valentines Day. Taking a leeeeetle different approach on this pairing at first, but don't worry, it's rated M for a reason ;)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters, they belong to Hidekaz Himaruya

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Valentines Day was upon the world. This meant what would most likely end in the Brit getting drunk as a sailor at the local bar alone, perhaps with the lonely bartender to pour his miserable woe into. Arthur particularly hated this time of year. More than Christmas, which was another holiday that only meant sadness for him.

If anything, the only joy he ever got from these sort of occasions was a bittersweet visit from the frog. Bittersweet because although Arthur hated that mongrel, he always eventually gave into the Frenchie's games, either that or was (not quite as unwillingly as he put out to be) forced into them. However this left an unpleasant taste in his mouth the time after that, knowing he'd been used as just another sex tool once again.

But that was generally the way things went on holidays for Arthur Kirkland. Always getting ridiculously hammered, practically raped, or a mixture of the two. The worst part was that after being taken advantage of, he knew that that was all it was. Sex didn't mean anything to Francis Bonnefoy. Hell, _he_ didn't mean anything to Francis, or anyone for that matter. Not once in all these years that had come and gone had Arthur received a single Valentine from anyone.

That might've been why it was such a surprise when the blonde opened the door to his house to find the mailman had come to visit with something much different than just junk mail.

"Here you go Mr. Kirkland. Have a wonderful Valentine's Day." The young, and rather dashing mailman beamed at Arthur, probably a little overly happy about the lovey dovey bullshit that was in the air. Snatching the delivery out of the lad's hands, Arthur scowled at the brown haired fellow, and shooed him on his way. Looking a bit bewildered, he lowered his head and scuttled away from the house.

Letting out a sigh, Arthur turned on his heel and examined the letter as he walked through the doorway of his house and into the kitchen. As soon as he saw the overly fancy and curly script on the delicate looking pink envelope, so fancy in fact, it could've been considered calligraphy, England knew it was from Francis.

Not to say he didn't think it was pretty, Francis's handwriting was actually quite beautiful. Plopping down in a chair by the window table of his kitchen, the blonde further investigated this letter before even going as far as to open it. Getting a chance to actually read the somewhat hard to decipher name on the front of the thing, Arthur saw to his surprise and somewhat endearment his name. And upon better attention to detail, the blonde found it written a whole lot prettier than in some of Francis's other countless love notes he'd given to many(MANY many) other people over the years. How he'd seen those, well on other country's tables, of course.

Now, opening the envelope with gentle care, something never bothered with other packages before, he pulled out a creamy pink note, the outside embellished with lacy hearts and detailed roses. You could always count on that damn frog to go over the top. Unfolding it, Arthur began to read the Valentine from Francis.

_Dear Arthur Kirkland, the Handsome United Kingdom of the wonderfully beautiful Great Britain and (not so handsome or nearly as pretty) Northern Ireland,_

God how Arthur despised his long name and damn brother. And the flattering was rather unnecessary too. It seemed a bit obvious at first of how hard Francis was trying to get in the Brit's pants.

_I know you probably hate me. No, scratch that, you __**do**__ hate me. But even after all my devious rampages, and generally successful attempts at invading your personal space, and my blatant insults at your cooking, and your general lack of style, (which I'll have you know is a lie, you always look damn sexy in whatever your wearing) you should know that I do care about you. Even if you choose not to believe it._

_And I know you think that I'm just a flaming horny pervert trying to have sex with you (again) through this flattery and gorgeous scrawl, (it took over an hour to write this until it was okay in my eyes for you to see)_

Huh. So England was right about two things.

_But I mean every last word I say in this letter, and am being very serious when I say this._

_I love you. _

_I have always loved you, even from when we were still children. I have watched you and know all your quirks, and how your eyes sparkle when you offend America, hell, I even know exactly how you like your tea!_

_All the teasing and the bullying, that was all to hide this one simple fact._

_I love you. And I have just been too scared to say it. I've been afraid you'll reject me, and go flouncing off into Alfred's arms, whom I know has his eye on you as well, believe it or not. That's part of the reason I despise him so much. But now you can't even recognize that I __**do**__ care for you, that your not just a sex tool. That's mainly my fault. Now I may not be __**in **__love with you, I know I'd be a horrible partner due to my incredibly active sex life for that, but you're the only one I've ever deeply cared about. _

_So, Arthur Kirkland, I have one question. Will you be my Valentine?_

_If you'll accept me as more than just something to do on Valentines Day, then come to my house at eight o'clock tonight. _

_ Je t'aime,_

_ Francis Bonnefoy_

Arthur let a single tear roll down his face and onto the paper, water seeping onto the ink of the "ai" in Je t'amie.

That night, at eight o'clock precisely, Arthur pushed the doorbell of Francis Bonnefoy's house.


	2. Valentine's Gift

_Sorry for the wait guys! I've been a little busy with a con and school and such, so I haven't been able to completely finish this chapter in time for Valentines Day. But now it's finally here, so hope you enjoy! Please review and tell me what you think, it took awhile xD_

_**WARNINGS:** Lots of Lemon. Involves yaoi, fluffy hearts, and whipped cream. If you don't like it, don't read it, you have been warned._

_**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hetalia, the show and its characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya!_

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Arthur hung his head waiting for the Frenchman to come greet him.

"Maybe this was a joke. Maybe he's not going to open the door. He wont be here for me." The solemn looking nation muttered this under his breath, assuming the worst out of impatience.'

But after what seemed like an eternity, (probably actually only over a minute) the door opened. Standing there with a glass of wine in hand was France, looking very suave and wearing nice black dress pants that were already riding low on his hips, and a red dress shirt left open to expose the man's moderately muscled abs and chest with the slightest amount of sandy blonde hair across his pecks. It was hard for Arthur not to stare a bit when the man was dressed in such a way right before his eyes.

France, noticing his visitor was checking him out, smirked, commenting, "Ohonhon, enjoying yourself Monsieur?" England blushed, and looked curtly away, trying to hide his face.

"S-shut it, frog." But France took his hand and gently pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them. Then, half leading, and half pushing England, whom at the time had his hands covering his ass to protect it from being molested by the person behind him, France eventually got him over to the couch.

"Will my Valentine decide to be nice tonight and stop calling me these silly names?" France asked, rather innocently picking up a second glass of wine off the coffee table and offering it to England.

"No, no. No alcohol for me, I know your trying to get me drunk." Even though the valentine he received could have proved this refusal unnecessary, it was against his nature to trust the devious man sitting oh so sweetly across from him.

Having set his own drink down, France then leaned over on top of England, startling him, and gently holding his slender arm down, whispered into England's ear, "Don't you trust me?" This came out in a low seductive growl that sent shivers down England's spine as he then felt France's warm breath on the nape of his neck.

Taking the glass of wine in the hand that wasn't practically pinned down, he tried to back away a little bit and took a sip hoping France would get off. Instead, he dove at England, smashing his lips passionately against the other country's. Using the element of surprise and the gasp France had enticed, he gained entrance, sliding his tongue into England's mouth. Exploring greedily, France could taste the remnants of red wine that had just coated the mouth that he was running his tongue along the bottom of.

England saw to it that France didn't get all the fun, and pushed his tongue up against the other's, and they fought for dominance, the wet appendages sliding around each other, both pressing for entrance to the opposite's mouth.

Eventually, the two parted for breath, and both of their breathing was shallow and shaky. Calming a little bit, France grinned and leaned back over to England, gently nibbling at the country's earlobe. "Je t'aime Arthur," France whispered lovingly into his ear, making chills of delight rush through England's body. Never had words of love been said to him in such a manner and it made him crazy.

France then moved his mouth down, leading along the jaw line, and slowly ran his tongue along it, then made England moan whenever he nipped or sucked on a sensitive spot on his neck.

Using his free hand, France proceeded to try and slide his sneaky fingers up England's shirt. He traced the pale skin and the beautifully defined muscles with his hand, enjoying the soft feel. But England pushed away, much to the wine freak's disappointment, and tried to squirm away from the hot breath caressing his open skin.

The brit scowled and said with a tone of disdain, "W-we're going too fast Francis, no, not yet." A now irritated England reached down to set his wine glass upon the floor, to which received a response of being swept up bridal style.

"Hey! Let me go you bloody git! I wont stand for this I tell you!" England began thrashing in France's arms, spitting numerous British curses at the amused country, some that would have you kicked out of London. But France just smiling, saying over it all, "Ahh Arthur, you always hav to fight it, don't you? But zat is what I love about you, mi amour." England growled unhappily.

For a moment, England actually thought about giving up entirely to France, seeing that fighting him was only feeding the fire. But a proper British gentlemen would never go down without a fight! England reasoned to himself. And in his mind, he was indeed a proper British gentlemen. But before he could protest further, France was already striding down the hall and up the stairs, making his way to a room England knew well by now.

The bedroom.

Kicking open the door, France stepped in, now a little bit slower that he knew he had almost gotten England where he wanted him. Flouncing onto the bed, he laid Iggy down near the top, right by where the bedpost was. This caused England to become somewhat suspicious. Even more so when France reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a garland of feathery hearts. The Frenchman honestly did love that fellow, but you can't throw away century's old traditions because of a confession.

"Francis, what are you doing." England said shakily as the grin on the fast approaching man widened immensely. France crawled slowly up England's chest, unbuttoning and then kissing each new patch of skin uncovered as he went up, causing the one below him to shudder in delight. When he reached the collarbone, France slowly pulled up England's arms, which gave a weak attempt to resist the action until he was distracted by a wet appendage sliding its way across his collarbone and up his neck to his ear, where it continued to lick teasingly until England found his arms raised up so his wrists met the bedpost, which were being held firmly in place by France's soft hands. Somehow, on the way up, France had also managed to slide the sleeves of his dress shirt off as well, which now left him shirtless as well.

As France pulled up the string of feathery hearts, England quickly caught on to what was about to happen. "Oh no. No, no, no, bloody hell NO! Francis put it down!" But this attempt at resistance was also futile, as halfway through the defiant screams France had already almost secured the fluffy binding around the Brit's wrists and the bars of the bedpost.

"Zere we go! Now we are almost ready for me to express my love, ohonhon! Just you wait here Arthur dear!" France tickled around England's ear with one of the hearts dangling from above his head. As soon as France had briefly left the room, England began squirming in his binds, trying desperately to get them loose, but he had gotten nowhere by the time the frenchie re-entered the room with what looked like. . .a can of whipped cream?

"Oh bloody hell. . . God save me," he said to himself, allowing his previously struggling body to fall limp. Climbing back on the bed, France looked like a prowling cat, ready to pounce on his prey- England. England squirmed and he got on top of him, the man settling him self to be hovering over the blonde's hips. Barely rubbing up against the other's crotch as he leaned in, France made England's already tightening pants a little tighter, and England began to blush furiously.

Still grinning wildly, France uncapped the whipped cream and shook it a few times. Then, spraying some in his mouth, he went in to kiss England, who pushed his neck forward to meet France until their tongue's met. They fought against each other, one trying to get into the other's mouth, and the other trying to lick all the cream off.

Enjoying the fact that his partner was playing along, France broke away to continue what he had wanted the whipped cream for. Sitting up, and therefore apply more pressure to England's increasing arousal, he looked upon his work space. Once again tracing along that beautiful pale skin, France took note of which places he touched that made England shudder and squirm at the most. Being pinned down and unable to control any of what was happening, England himself was trying not to moan or make any noises that might tell France he was weak there. But France was quite good at reading body language and soon knew where to go the most.

Starting above the collarbone, a place he already knew was a sweet spot, France squirted whipped cream all along it, leading down onto his upper chest, where Iggy was the most sensitive. Then, placing two neat spirals on each nipple, the sudden cold gaining a gasp from above, he finished round one with a nice big heart on the pecks and ribcage area.

Bending down, France slowly began to run his tongue across the whipped cream, enjoying the sweet taste of both the soft skin, and the topping. When he got down near the chest, England was completely unable to keep it in and let out a series of moans as France spent extra time there, teasingly tickling the spot with just the tip of his tongue. While he was doing this, France also began grinding his hips into England's enjoying the feeling of his bulge rub up against England's increasing one. Every touch he felt shot a tingling sensation through his pants and made him want to moan out.

"Mmm, vous aimez que. . .Angleterre like that. . " Moving his lips over to the right, he then encircled the swirl of cream with his tongue, and placed his lips over the already hard nub. After sucking at it for a bit and gaining a few more delicious moans, France then hovered over to the left side. Slowly licking the whipped cream off that one, he grabbed the right nipple between his fingers and gently, but increasingly harder squeezed that one. When the other one was uncovered, he continued to lap at it, sometimes making circles around it.

"F-fuck Francis," England groaned, dying at the waves of pleasure he could do nothing about but take in. "H-hurry up, you bloody gi- ah!" A cry of surprise was let out as France bit down a little on his sensitive nipple.

Moving down further, France finally reached the zip that would lead to what he wanted. Pulling down the fly, he then tugged the jeans off all the way. France smiled upon seeing the union jack printed upon the boxers that sheathed the tent he had helped build up. Slowly, he pulled down these, and revealed England's throbbing member, mouth almost drooling a bit.

Snapping at France to go faster, England was getting more and more bothered by each passing second that France was spending not giving his cock what it really needed. Instead, France was just letting his steamy breath blow over the still hardening sex.

"Amende." Bringing the can up one more time, France made a bountiful line along the length, then, making England gasp in surprise and pleasure, he took the entire thing in mouth, whipped cream and all. Coming back up, he ran his tongue on the bottom and swallowed the mouthful of sweet before going back and sucking delicately on the head, licking the slit and then bobbing up and down, and soon the room was filled with moans. It had been awhile since he had tasted England.

France was so good with sex it was almost unbearable for the brit. Each touch from that wet mouth, hitting the sweetest and most sensitive spots on his cock was sending intense waves of pleasure through his body. Bucking his hips into France's mouth, he groaned heavily. Now his bound wrists year to be free more than ever.

Squirming and moving from the hot sensations going through him, England panted and fought against his tied wrists. After much determination, he loosened then enough to get away with only some red marks on his wrists. But as soon as he was free, England instinctively pushed his hands down, weaving them through France's soft hair. He didn't even want to fight anymore, he just wanting that amazing release France was all to happy to provide.

France felt England arch his back as he came hard into the Frenchmen's mouth. Swallowing all of the sticky white cum, France pulled away, breaking a strand of saliva that linked the head with his panting tongue. Moving back up to England's face, removing one gripping hand from his wavy hair as he did, France locked lips once more, if only for just a quick, fleeting kiss.

"Nice Big Ben, mon amour."

Looking at France with half closed eyes glazed in lust, he mumbled back, "I'd sure enjoy seeing your Eifel Tower after that. . ." France chuckled at England, who was now lazily fumbling at France's zipper.

"That can be arranged. . .just let me help you with the travel, honhon" France said lustfully as he moved his hands down to meet England. He pulled the zip down to show his tent with the French flag on it. As soon as it was within reach, England grabbed the throbbing sex, making France groan at the sudden jolt of pleasure that traveled through his pants.

"A-Arthur!" He moaned, as England began to pump his member, making it hard to concentrate with the increasing want that was growing in both of them again. He grabbed his lover's hand, and looked at him with lustful, greedy eyes. Then, placing two fingers in front of England's mouth, he ordered, "Suck."

England did so gladly, taking both fingers and licking each one, before putting them all on his mouth and sucking them until they were all wet with saliva.

"You ready for this Angleterre?" In response, he only got a unintelligible low growl. He assumed this meant yes and slowly inserted the first digit into England's tight entrance. England bit his lip at the slight pain upon this intrusion, but soon got used to it as France kept moving. Adding the second finger, France began the scissoring motion, emitting a low moan from the receiver. Soon when France felt he was ready, the digits were removed and he returned to England's face,

"Je veux vous." he growled in the blonde's ear, imagining in his head England moaning and screaming his name in ecstasy.

"Then come get me, you git!" He slid off France's unbuttoned shirt and traced his chest with his finger while laughing ridiculously. France couldn't help but wonder if England had had a couple drinks before he arrived, or if a couple sips of wine could really get a person that hornily giddy.

But taking that statement to heart, France reached over to the drawer where the now abandoned heart garland was brought from, and pulled out a bottle of rose scented lube. Discarding his boxers, he poured a good amount into his palm and began rubbing his shaft, being sure to coat the slick substance all over his length.

Then, positioning himself at England's entrance, he without warning, pushed himself into the tight hole, groaning as a white hot heat enveloped his aching cock.

England cried out in a mix of shocking pain and melting pleasure as he felt a much, much larger intrusion than a mere few fingers entered him. France pulled out to the head then pushed back in with some force, allowing England to slowly get used to the feeling. The pain was beginning to numb for the brit as France thrusted rhythmatically, harder and harder as their moans grew louder and louder.

"Nnng, merde tu est tellement sere!" France cried out, gasping for breath. France lifted one of England's legs into the crook of his arm to push deeper, and after a few of these scream enticing thrusts, he heard his name cried out, with pleas of "Right there Francis, FUCK THERE!"

Answering his lover's call, he slammed hard into that same spot over and over, and started pumping England's member expertly with his thrusts. As they both started to be pushed over the edge, England began having white spots in his vision and his eyes watered from the absolute bliss.

France's thrusts became untimed and sloppier as he pushed closer and closer to this climax. Crying each other's names, they both came in unison, collapses in a tangle of limbs on each other, both left panting in the aftermath of their lovemaking. France pulled out of England, and turned on his side, pulling his valentine close.

"S-sorry I made a mess," England muttered, cuddling slowly into France's chest. Chuckling, France ran his fingers through the blonde's messy hair and looked at him lovingly. "That's alright my Arthur" Pulling the sheets over them, the older country sighed, peacefully watching England's breathing slow down as he calmed, and Francis believed he was almost asleep.

"Happy Valentines Day."

But the Valentine heard one more thing whispered in his ear before he did drift off.

"Je t'aime mon amour, je t'aime."

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_Translations: _

_vous aimez que- you like that_

_je veux vous- I want you_

_merde tu est tellement sere- you're so tight  
_

_oh France, you pervy bastard :3_

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_Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed, and once again, please review! ;D_


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